Angels at the Ritz
by Solsbury Girl
Summary: How did Jack deal with his feelings after he left his namesake in 1941?


Author's note: Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed my first story, it was wonderful to hear from you. It really does inspire one to keep going.

This second oneshot contains tiny spoilers for "Captain Jack Harkness" and "The Doctor Dances". And, in case anyone doesn't know, the Ritz isn't just a dance hall in Torchwood's Cardiff, it is also a posh London hotel.

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_How did Jack deal with his feelings after he left his namesake in 1941? Here's my missing scene from the end of "Captain Jack Harkness"._

**Angels at the Ritz**

"There were angels dancing at the Ritz." Jack had told them as he walked into the Hub, his eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. They could all see that he was emotionally exhausted and although relieved to be back with them, there was a far-away look in his eyes still.

"Jack…." Owen, always the doctor, made to stand and go to his Captain.

"Let me." Tosh stilled the injured doctor. She went upstairs to tend to Jack.

Together, they'd toasted Captain Jack Harkness – both Captain Jacks – and Tosh had finally gone home, planning to leave for London early in the morning, hoping to make amends with her family for missing her Grandfather's eighty eighth birthday. The card was still in her computer bag. The plastic wrapper had come in useful. Maybe packaging wasn't going to be the downfall of the world after all, Jack mused wryly.

Jack had been grateful for her undemanding company. They had shared an experience but they didn't need to discuss it that night. Each had to process it first, to live with it, to come to terms with it. And later, after that, then they might talk about it. The others, Gwen, Owen, even Ianto, would have required at least a degree of explanation. And Jack really didn't feel up to that at the moment.

He sat at the table until everyone had gone, each waving up at him as they'd grabbed bags, car keys; the paraphernalia that made Jack glad that he lived at the Hub – no need to gather belongings every night. No need to drive with the rush hour traffic. No need to go anywhere, to be anywhere, no one requiring anything more of him….

He'd felt it coming; felt it rolling inexorably towards him ever since the shock of meeting his namesake in the dance hall had left him reeling. He knew what was going to happen to Captain Harkness the following day, and he was powerless to stop it. Even if he could have stopped it, he knew that he mustn't. And from the moment they'd entwined fingers, from the moment they'd shared a kiss, from the moment he had started to fall in love, he knew it was coming.

And when it arrived, it overwhelmed him.

He sat alone, the weight of his thoughts crushing the air from him, pressing so heavily on his heart that he couldn't breathe.

He thought about dancing with Jack, the feeling of holding and being held, of peace, warmth and - for a few seconds – a feeling of complete serenity he hadn't known in 100 years. He sighed. For that briefest of moments in Jack's arms he'd forgotten who he was, what he had been, and what was to become of them both.

Jack let his thoughts go where they wanted. He remembered the time agency, John, Gray, his parents, his friend Rose, his saviour the Doctor. Rose and the Doctor dancing. He hadn't been sure whether to cut in on the Doctor and dance with Rose, or cut in on Rose and dance with the Doctor. Or just watch. Until just a few hours ago, that night in the Tardis had been the first moment since he'd been forced to flee his boyhood home on the peninsula that Jack had felt truly secure. With bombs falling all around London, he'd felt safe, knowing he finally belonged again. The Doctor was dancing. With Rose. Above London. They'd been angels dancing. Angels dancing above the Ritz.

His memories threatened to drown him, to swamp him, to sweep him away in the torrent of his own oncoming storm.

And finally Jack wept. Deeply and silently, sucking breath in great gasps when he could. He wept for all that had happened, all that could have happened and all that would happen. He had no idea how long he took to cry himself out. Emotionally bankrupt and physically exhausted, he raised his head as a knock at his office door jerked him back to the present.

Ianto put a glass of water on the table in front of him.

"Here, drink this." It sounded like a suggestion but it was clearly a command. As Jack picked up the glass and sipped obediently, Ianto moved behind him and, with infinite tenderness, placed his hands on Jack's shoulders; kissing him lightly on the top of his head. He pulled the older man slightly backwards into his body, then folded his arms around Jack's chest. It wasn't a hug or a caress, it was a simple gesture of compassion.

"I thought you'd gone home." said Jack, wiping his hand across his eyes, reluctantly dismissing the comforting images of the Doctor and Rose but taking solace in Ianto's warm presence.

"No, I had a few things to do first. Hub was a bit of a mess. Owen's blood everywhere, it was; needed mopping up before it congealed in the Rift manipulator. Wouldn't have wanted it sticking down any important bits, now would we?"

A half smile played on Jack's lips. "You were aiming for his shoulder, weren't you, Ianto?" he asked conversationally. Almost – but not quite – sure of the answer.

"I think perhaps I need some refresher weapons training, sir." Ianto smiled enigmatically as he turned to leave the room.

Jack looked at Ianto's retreating back. His mood lifted a little as he realized that although Ianto should have gone home a long time ago, he had chosen to stay just in case Jack needed someone to take the edge off the overwhelming loneliness.

"Ianto?" called Jack, quietly.

Ianto turned, coming back into the room. "Yes, sir? Can I do anything for you?'

Jack held his hand out to the young man. "Will you dance with me?"


End file.
